


The One with the Goat

by LittleHogwartsGirl



Series: Statue 'verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleHogwartsGirl/pseuds/LittleHogwartsGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a goat burns and Grantaire regrets most of his life choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Goat

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my best friend [Effy](http://elloquente.tumblr.com) for reading and helping me post (I need AO3 lessons) and also to [Malin](http://dustintheimpala.tumblr.com) for reading. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this work of fanfiction do not represent those of the author. Please only burn things that belong to you, and please only do it under controlled circumstances. Do not burn Gävlebocken, as burning it counts as an act of vandalism. Thank you.
> 
> Author's note: I'm Swedish. This is shamelessly inspired by the burning of Gävlebocken (see the Gävle Goat on Wikipedia for more information. Google Translate should do a reasonably good job with the Swedish version, too). The part about the helicopter plot is true. Again, please do not burn things that do not belong to you. Not even Gävlebocken. 
> 
> Set in the same verse as The One with the Statue, but can be read separately. This piece is set after The One with the Statue, so if you do want to read them in order, check out that one first.

Grantaire quite likes the tradition, despite the fact that it’s illegal and just a little bit weird. Every year, a huge goat made of straw is erected in the middle of town. More often than not, it is burned to cinders.

(Once, a plan was unearthed to kidnap it via helicopter. Unfortunately, it never was, though Grantaire still has hopes.)

The first year he was sort-of-involved, he happened to be walking across the square one cold night when a tall blond guy approximately as hot as the sun grabbed his arm and asked him to help them be on the look-out for the local police inspector.

”What’s in it for me?” Grantaire had said, pretending he wasn’t kind of drunk.

”You get to annoy the cops?” the hot guy had said and looked at him from under thick pale eyelashes. ”You in or not?”

Grantaire hadn’t been able to argue with that logic, and he ended up standing with his back to the square as the goat went up in flames.

That's how he got involved with Les Amis, and learned that the hot guy was called Enjolras, and then slowly fell in love until his life consisted mostly of alcohol, chocolate, artsy-but-shitty paintings, and pining.

Anyway. The burning of the goat.

Every year, Enjolras argues that the burning is a critique of Christmas as a capitalist holiday. Grantaire knows it's not true, because Enjolras is always angry when someone else burns the goat before Les Amis have the chance to, and then he spends days muttering about it and stealing Grantaire's chocolate and sometimes singing along to Adele. Grantaire thinks maybe Enjolras is as in love with revolution as he himself is with Enjolras.

This year, the sixth one since Grantaire met Les Amis, Enjolras started planning his yearly act of sabotage in October. Joly and Grantaire found him in a corner of Courfeyrac's Halloween party tapping furiously at his phone and mumbling about kindling and gasoline. They let him be so they wouldn't be dragged into the plot before their time. Enjolras ended up pestering everyone (except Grantaire, who refused on principle, and Jehan, who wasn't asked) into being a part of it within a week.

”You know that continuing this thing is ridiculous, right?” Grantaire says after a meeting which was mostly Enjolras telling everyone what their position was to be, and Grantaire rolling his eyes, and Jehan muttering poetry in a corner for reasons of plausible deniability.

”Tell me more about how my convictions are ridiculous”, Enjolras says, deadpan. ”I'm sure that will make me see the error of my ways.”

”I'm not saying ridiculous!” Grantaire argues, and then rethinks, remembers. ”Okay, I am, but think about it. It was cool when you were, like, sixteen. Had that whole vigilante protest thing going for it, but now? You're twenty-two, Enj. The older you get, the less vigilante it gets. Plus! Greater risk of landing your ass in jail.”

Enjolras doesn't grace that with a reply, except a muttered ”I look young enough to still get carded”, and instead marches out of the room.

”You don't even drink!" Grantaire yells after him, and chuckles when he's rewarded with Enjolras flipping him off without even turning around.

The plan goes like this: Combeferre and Courfeyrac get "supplies" (probably gasoline, and matches, but maybe chocolate if Grantaire remembers to ask nicely). Then they keep look-out to make sure no one gets close. Bossuet causes a diversion, with Joly and Chetta for back-up (in case his bad luck decides to for once make everything go off without a hitch). Bahorel, Feuilly, and Enjolras burn the thing.

Grantaire and Jehan join the movie night Éponine has organised to keep Gavroche out of trouble. Only two hours into it, 'Ponine realises she has forgotten to buy icecream and Gavroche is starting to fidget in the face of this new information, and Grantaire draws the short straw and has to be the one to brave the freezing December night to go buy icecream.

(His suggestion, which was to just mix whipped cream and chocolate in a bowl and place it outside for an hour, was rejected.)

”Fucking 'real icecream' my fucking-”

His angry though admittedly shivery rant is broken off by a scream from an alleyway to his immediate right, and then he sees Bossuet and Chetta running out of it.

”Just run, R”, is Chetta's shouted advice, and Grantaire's not one to question her at a time like this.

They run around five corners and through three alleys and finally end up a block down from the square where the goat is.

”What- who- who were we even-?” is all Grantaire can say between heaving breaths of icy air.

Bossuet has to take time to stop laughing before he can reply. ”Javert- we led him down that alley and he- he fell in a garbage can and I can't-”

He doesn't stop laughing until Chetta puts a hand over his mouth and rolls her eyes, albeit fondly. ”Joly climbed a building and waited; he's probably still there. It's this way.” She takes Bossuet by the hand and then leads them both even closer to the square.

”Isn't the point of a diversion to lead people away from the target?” Grantaire can't help but ask.

”You're in this now, R”, Bossuet says, not actually explaining anything, as they round a corner so that the still-intact goat comes into view. ”Come have a look, it's fun.”

”Have a look?” Grantaire says, confused. ”I can see it fine from here.”

They cross the square, sans Chetta, and climb the fence the authorities have placed around the goat. Grantaire has to cover his mouth with his gloved hands to keep himself from laughing out loud.

Bahorel and Feuilly are nowhere to be seen. Enjolras, alone, is holding a burning torch, an actual honest-to-God flaming torch like from the middle ages, to the goat's leg and almost cajoling the straw into catching fire. He looks as though he's very disappointed in the circumstances which led him here, though that may just be Grantaire projecting.

”Come on”, Enjolras says to the goat, seemingly without even noticing that they're there. ”Please just burn, I hate you, burn, damn you, burn.”

”Enj?” Grantaire says once he can stop himself laughing. ”You, um, you know it can't hear you, right?”

Instead of jumping at the sound of his voice, Enjolras just looks up as if from a trance; he raises his head slowly and blinks at Grantaire and Bossuet.

”R”, he says. ”Hi. Hi, Bossuet. I know it can't hear me, but I'm assuming some kind of deity can and maybe they'll help me out. This is exhausting. It's covered in flame-retardant.”

Grantaire, again, does not laugh. ”Where are Bahorel and Feuilly? I thought they were supposed to help out.”

”They're getting more gasoline.”

”Oh.” A minute or two passes in silence, excepting Enjolras' muttered pleas to the goat. Some of the straw is starting to look a little burnt, at least. When Grantaire points it out, he finds himself wishing for sunglasses (at night, in December) to guard his poor eyes from Enjolras' blinding smile.

”You think so?” he says and peers closely at the singed straw. ”If I just-”

He violently jams the torch into the darkest bit of straw and, wonder above wonders, it breaks, the torch vanishing into the leg of the goat. Within minutes, happy little yellow flames are beginning to engulf the leg, spreading up the inside of it with alarming speed.

”Let's get out of here”, Bossuet says, shoving compromising material into a garbage bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He vanishes over the fence.

”Enjolras!” Grantaire says, loudly to be heard over the crackling fire. ”We gotta go, someone will be here any minute, this thing is like a beacon.”

”Hang on!” Enjolras says and flings a last bottle of gasoline onto the goat's back. ”Let's go.” He swings over the fence like a high jumper, all grace and long legs. Grantaire follows, more clumsily, and then they run together toward the darkest corner of the square, where the shadow of the statue in its middle gives some cover.

They're halfway across, still clearly visible in the now bright light of the burning goat, when the unmistakeable voice of Inspector Javert shouts to follow them.

”Stop in the name of the law!” he adds, and if he weren't running for his life for the second time tonight Grantaire might have spared a breath to laugh at the phrasing.

They race across the square and turn a corner. Enjolras stops for a second to chuck the few supplies he's clutching into a bin, and then they keep running, up one street and then left and then right and right again, and at some point they grab hands and don't let go.

”Stop!” shouts Javert behind them again, and Enjolras pulls Grantaire down an alleyway to give them a few moments of breathing space.

”Out here”, Enjolras gasps, breathing almost too hard to speak, and tugs Grantaire toward the end of the alley. ”Drop your jacket.”

Grantaire, even panting, can get out a sharp, ”What the fuck?”

”Drop it, he won’t know what we look like.” Enjolras is already shrugging off his jacket and dropping it on the pavement.

Grantaire drops his jacket and pretends it’s not freezing. ”You’re insane.”

”I’m smart”, Enjolras says, still breathy, and then pulls him by the hand out of the alley. ”Pretend we’ve been kissing.”

”I’m sorry what.” He has to stop jogging, he’s so confused, his pulse suddenly like thunder in his ears.

Enjolras turns to him and crowds him up against a nearby brick wall. ”Just pretend we’ve been kissing, he’ll think we’re out of breath ‘cause we’ve been making out.”

”Why would you- okay.”

Grantaire isn’t a saint. Pretending is all he’s likely to get anyway. He drops his arms around Enjolras’ shoulders and leans his forehead against his; Enjolras’ hands come to rest around his waist.

”Just pretend”, Enjolras says in a whisper and closes his eyes, leaning forward until his face is pressed against the side of Grantaire’s neck.

Grantaire cannot breathe but closes his eyes to enjoy the moment.

Which is when Javert runs out from around the corner and, promptly, ruins the moment.

”Show me your hands!” he bellows, and if Grantaire is a little slow in removing his hands from Enjolras’ hair then no one needs to know.

”Is there, um, a problem, Inspector?” Enjolras says, ever the polite fake gentleman. One of his hands is still on Grantaire’s hip, very much distracting Grantaire from saying anything at all.

”Was it you?” Javert says, staring Enjolras down. ”Did you do it?”

”I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.” Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand as if he does it all the time; Grantaire’s heart stops beating. ”Are we being detained? We were, um. Well, kind of busy.” He laughs, embarrassed, sounding so so natural. Grantaire’s heart hurts.

Javert looks them up and down as if trying to find a crime he could arrest them for. ”Go, then. Straight home, you hear me?”

Both Grantaire and Enjolras are twenty-two years old. It says a lot about how much Enjolras wants this to go off without a hitch that he doesn’t tell Javert that they’re not actually teenagers. Instead he drags Grantaire away into the alley, still holding his hand as if they’re really dating.

As Grantaire turns to grab his jacket off the alley floor, he comes face to face with Enjolras for a split second. Enjolras’ eyes are big and dark and focused on his. If Grantaire moves an inch forward and tilts his head just so, they would kiss.

”I should go”, Grantaire says, wanting to get out of there, away from his treacherous mind. ”I gotta- go.”

He leaves before he can change his mind, and walks back to Éponine's as if in a dream, still replaying whatever just happened with Enjolras in his mind. He has a distinct feeling of having forgotten something, but he dismisses it in favour of once again remembering Enjolras' eyes so close to his own, their breaths mingling to create a single plume of steam in the cold air.

”Hey, what took you so long?” Éponine says when he opens the door.

”Where's the icecream?” says Jehan.

Right.

**Author's Note:**

> Like many others, I have people (Grantaire) calling Enjolras Enj since it sounds like French "ange", meaning angel. It's symbolic and that. Also my dad can't pronounce Enjolras' name and I'm sure you agree with me in thinking that Enj is better than Ernst. 
> 
> Enjolras not drinking is from the Brick, which says (I'm paraphrasing) that he disdains Grantaire's drinking because he himself is sober, so I went with it. 
> 
> The "young enough to still get carded" line is from the Buffy episode Tabula Rasa, which was written by Rebecca Rand Kirshner. (I did not credit this initially because it didn't occur to me, but I realise now that of course that should be credited, and I apologise.)
> 
> I write Chetta instead of Musichetta as a shoutout to my dad, who thought her name was Bruschetta.


End file.
